


Flint and Steel

by vuas



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Creampie, Cunnilingus, F/M, Liberties taken with regards to Russian diminutives, Light Dom/sub, Mentions Of Infidelity, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M, a LOT of hair pulling because I feel like the Darkling is into that, mal who, no beta we die like men, two subs and Dom walk into a bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29227383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vuas/pseuds/vuas
Summary: “You misunderstand, Alina,” Nikolai licks his lips. “I’m not giving you to the Darkling.”“Oh?”“We intend to share you,” Aleksander’s nose skims the vulnerable junction of her neck, voice low enough that she feels it scrape in her bones.
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Nikolai Lantsov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov
Comments: 37
Kudos: 317





	Flint and Steel

**Author's Note:**

> AU where the Darkling is a little less evil and Alina does accept Nikolai’s proposal and she gets EVERYTHING she wants 
> 
> Part of my “let the hot characters fuck” campaign

Shedding her royal trinkets, Alina—Princess of Ravka, how _strange_ —paced back to her chambers, away from the burbling light and sound of the feast hall celebrating her marriage to Nikolai Lantsov. It had been a quick affair—political _,_ she often reminded herself—two of them holding candles lit from the same flame before the Apparat, her golden crown caught in the glow like it’s own little sun. 

The Darkling had been in attendance, to her surprise. He’d made it known during her private lessons that he found the church as distasteful as it found him—and truly she understood, having a hard time feeling particularly spiritual herself during the ceremony beneath the watchful, painted eyes of dead icons lining the church walls. Apparently his position as a military advisor to the royal family outweighed his bleak views on religious tradition and ritual, because there he was, in a coat of inky black, gold eclipse pins at his collar. During her vows, she’d met cool grey eyes in the crowd, an understanding passing between them: they did many things out of obligation for their country, and getting married was not the worst of them.

She liked Nikolai more than she should. When he’d proposed, the sting of Mal’s affair with Zoya had still been fresh, a wound that not even time could make whole again. More than that—the Ravkan people frothed for news of her ascension, searching for a savior of legend. Even the Darkling had encouraged her to accept when she admitted to being in possession of the emerald ring. Which was odd, considering that she’d been unable to brush aside the teather in her soul that drew her to the Shadow Summoner like an orbiting star.

He’d only smiled when she brought up her concerns, a predatory tilt to his head. _I’m a very patient man, Alina. Take as long as you like._

She had decided not to ask him what he meant.

Pulling off the heavy brocade cloak the moment she passed through the threshold, unclasping the starburst pins at her throat, Alina headed so quickly to the fire that she almost didn’t notice the shadowed figure stretched out lazily at her desk. 

“Aleksander?”

He hummed. The shadow summoner in question had vanished from the feast early on after a polite bow to the royal couple, apparently to….brood in her private rooms with a bottle of alcohol.

She recalled a conversation she’d had with Nikolai just days before as they left a war room meeting led by the Darkling; the prince tugging on a lock of her hair, one shoulder propped against the doorway. _Do you trust him?_ Nikolai asked, lips nearly against her ear—for her benefit or for that of the various onlookers who’d been told of their upcoming happy nuptials, she couldn’t be sure. A few feet away, the Darkling was absorbed in a map of Shu borders, dark head bent low over the cartography scroll. She wondered how many times that border had changed during his tenure, if he could recall each field or copse of trees won in the blood of battle, if he measured it by blades of grass or the number of Grisha souls saved.

_I understand him,_ she’d answered diplomatically after a long moment.

Nikolai had tapped her nose with a finger, seemingly delighted. _You’d have an excellent career in politics, my dear._

But that had been before she was crowned royalty, before she pledged her life to the Lantsov dynasty—it was surprising to consider that perhaps the Darkling, with his eternally cold-blooded demeanor, had taken solace in the bottom of a bottle on her wedding day. “Aleksander,” she said slowly, taking in the sight of his rumpled collar and mussed hair, like he’d been wringing his hands through the curls. “I’m not sure you should be in here.”

His long fingers drummed on the desk—it was difficult to see his face, likely because he’d pulled in the shadows like a cloak. He gestured to the near-empty bottle. “I came to make a toast to the bride. Join me.”

Her feet seemed to move before she could contemplate how good of an idea it was to move within arm’s reach. Coming to stand between his legs, Alina inspected the peeling label on the bottle he’d placed upon her pile of letters: vodka. She suppressed the urge to wrinkle her nose at the smell; she’d never seen him drink anything stronger than _kvas._

“How did you get in here?” She touched the neck of the glass, sliding a finger through the wet condensation. 

“What do you mean?”

“There’s ten guards in this hall alone.”

He tries not to smile, like she was on the cusp of solving some puzzle he’d placed in front of her. “I have ways to conceal myself, if needed. I can show you in our next lesson.”

_“If needed_ ,” she repeats flatly. “I’m not sure what that means exactly.”

“I didn’t need them tonight. I was invited.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Not by me. And Nikolai will be here any moment, so you should see yourself back to the Little Palace.”

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, standing to his full height, enough that she’s forced to crane her neck back to maintain eye contact. He must not be that drunk, because he hardly wavers on his feet, eyes sharp as ever. “The boy didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me _what_?” 

Terrible idea to lean closer; the gravity of his gaze pulling her in it’s swell. His hands are at her waist and she can’t recall how they got there and what’s worse is she hardly cares—because the bond bursts, guilded edges splitting at the seams, white-hot in intensity. Dimly she wonders if it’s the alcohol in his system, lowering his hefty inhibitions as he slides a hand up her spine, yanking her against the line of his chest.

Alina though, has no such excuse when she kisses him. 

His scent is birch sap and first winter snow, and she’s drunk on it, taking great greedy gulps. The emerald on her finger is weightless as he bends her back, kissing her resolutely, mercilessly, coaxing little noises from her throat, sliding a hand into her hair and _pulling,_ _oh,_ and Alina has never felt this way before and instinctively knows she never will with anyone else, whether she likes it or not—was there a word for something that devastating?

He stumbles back into the chair, taking her with him, her hands twisting in his collar as she sprawls in his lap. Groaning, Aleksander scrapes his teeth over her pulse, the hem of her wedding dress creeping higher, ghosting almost to her hip as she grinds against his thigh, desperate to eliminate the space between them. All of it despite the niggling alarm bell in her mind, the one that insisted she’d forgotten something important—but what could be more important than _this,_ than _him,_ than the blooming, inexplicable connection they shared?

The door across the room clicks shut. 

Heart plummeting, Alina twists to find Nikolai leaning against the frame, watching them with a fox-like intensity, still in his coronation regalia. Was it worse to spring up and deny what was so clearly happening or to stay frozen in the firm circle of Aleksander’s arms?

The Darkling makes the decision for her, holding tight as he nods to the prince. “Lantsov,” he says softly, dangerously edged with complexity. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” Nikolai shrugs, plucking off his crown, blowing off some imaginary dust and polishing it with a fur-lined sleeve. “She’s only my wife.”

The hands at her waist flex possessively. “And she’s my sun-summoner.”

“Is there a reason you two are talking about me like I’m not even in the room?” 

Twin gazes snap to her instantly as the tension breaks, and Alina almost regrets opening her mouth. No matter how long she stayed at the palace, it never got easier to be the object of everyone’s attention, an acute study that reminded her of butterflies pinned by paper-thin wings beneath suffocating glass plates. Greedy hands tracing their edges, leaving only smudged fingerprints behind. 

Aleksander strokes her spine, reminding her of how Mal often soothed spooked animals at Keremzin when they were children. It was profoundly comforting, the rhythm stolen from a memory. 

“Lantsov. Tell her what you told me.”

“You two have been…talking?” She tries not to sound too incredulous, but the image of them sharing a booth at the pub moaning into pints of beer comes to mind. Nikolai pulled off his overcoat, dropping the fine fabric on the floor as he moved closer to the fireplace, closer to them. 

“Alina,” he teases, apparently taking her betrayal in stride. “Don’t act surprised. You’re currently sitting in another man’s lap on our wedding night. I realized some time ago our marriage wouldn’t exactly be...traditional.”

Shame turns her cheeks scarlet, but the Darkling’s grip on her hips remains firm, preventing her from fleeing. “Yes, if I recall your proposal included the romantic phrase _political alliance.”_ She’d been under the impression that their nuptials were more for Ravka than for them—or at least, that’s what she’d told herself while kissing another man.

“Every little girl’s dream,” he winks. “Besides, some would argue that’s the most traditional form of marriage there is.”

She wants to sigh, wants to bury her face in the Darkling’s chest until all she can smell is frozen wilderness, wants to ease into Nikolai’s confident arms, wants to kick them both out and finally get a good night’s rest. Wishes as she always does, that it was different, that it was easier. That the light didn’t have such a high price. That she wasn’t always willing to pay it. 

“It’s more complicated to ignore the connection between you two,” Nikolai continues. “We can’t rot it out through sheer force of will, and to pretend otherwise is cowardly. We’d be doing all that power a disservice. We’d be doing the country a disservice.”

“And you’re...okay with that?”

“I’m very generous. I have a brother, if you remember. Even princes learn to share their solid gold toys.”

She pauses, turning back to Aleksander who’s expression reveals nothing, as immovable as carved marble. 

_Take as long as you like,_ he’d said, counting on eternity. Willing to wait out an entire regime to have her to himself. Willing to wait out what he probably considered a mere infatuation until she realized he was the only shelter she’d ever have. It was patience. Patience and blind possession. 

“This was your idea,” she huffs, tempted to yank his dark hair out of frustration. 

“I suggested it, yes. And—no disrespect, little prince—but I’ve been at court much longer than either of you. It would hardly be the first affair. Though perhaps the first one borne of necessity. You’d simply need to produce a Lantsov heir at some point.”

She swivels again in disbelief. “But what about you, Nikolai? Would you...take a mistress?” Wouldn't he be lonely? Hadn’t he endured enough with the accusations about his Mother’s transgressions? Was he ready for a lifetime of court gossip about the fidelity of his wife?

A long, silent second passes, and then another. Alina can feel the antlers at her neck, the dull points at her collarbone inexplicably tight. Her heartbeat is loud to her own ears, strumming like a rabbit cornered between a fox and a snake. 

“You misunderstand, Alina,” Nikolai licks his lips. “I’m not giving you to the Darkling.”

“Oh?”

“We intend to share you,” Aleksander’s nose skims the vulnerable junction of her neck, voice low enough that she feels it scrape in her bones. 

“ _Oh_ ,” she says weakly, the air suddenly thick with something she can’t name.

It makes sense now, why Nikolai hadn’t immediately called for Aleksander’s execution upon finding his brand new wife in the Shadow-Summoner’s lap. Still in her _wedding_ dress, the riverpearls glimmering in the firelight. White-heat licks it’s way to her middle, settling uncomfortably deep, penetrating her marrow as she considers their proposal.

It’s certainly a solution to their unique problem. To stop pretending her heart belonged to only one man.

The Darkling shifts their weight, orienting them so her back is to his chest, her legs bracketed by his own. “Lantsov,” he calls, voice like gravel, a hand winding into the hair at the base of her skull and pulling tight enough that she gasps. She doesn’t know why she lets him, only that it feels exquisite. “Come kiss your little wife.”

Her protest is immediate. “But—“

“Behave, pet,” he says simply, chin propped on his free hand, watching them both with interest.

The knot of her desire grows tighter—impossible to pull apart the twinned longing to both slap Aleksander and obey his every word. She’s trembling by the time Nikolai comes within arm’s reach, hands unnervingly gentle as he cups her face, a contrast to the one holding her firmly still from behind. They’ve kissed before, brief but pleasant moments. Uncomplicated, unlike the dangerous slant of Aleksander’s mouth.

Except now he’s doing it with little reservation, licking into her where the Darkling had been moments before, like he was trying to taste them both. He’s more...human, she thinks warmly. More uncontrolled, less practiced. Fumbling slightly when his nose bumps her cheek. She could drown in it. Almost does, wrapping her arms loosely at his neck, feeling the broad muscle of his shoulders.

And then she’s being pulled away too soon, panting, sporting flushed cheeks as the Darkling wraps an arm around her middle, tilting her jaw so he can press a kiss to her temple. Nikolai looks aching, nearly wistful. Alina has no doubt he could’ve spent hours with his mouth against hers, until they were both wrecked. 

“Fascinating,” Aleksander said simply, head cocked. “You’re both so terribly...young. And human.”

Alina nudges him in the ribs, insistent. “As are you.”

“Is that a yes?” Nikolai rolls his neck, almost beseeching. Alina bites her lip, tempted to dive in even though she couldn’t possibly see the bottom, not knowing if she’d come up for air. 

“I don’t understand how this is supposed to work,” she stammers, afraid to show her hand to the two most powerful men in Ravka. Afraid of the truth; that wanting this was a sign of weakness. But other things too, she supposed, mind conjuring a space with too many elbows and knees. “Um, physically,” she clarifies, sparing a glance towards the bed.

“We can practice first,” Nikolai says solemnly, a twinkle in his eye. “A lot.”

His hand lays on her thigh, dwarfing it, and Alina cannot look away from the thickness of his fingers. Cannot help but wonder what they’d feel like on her skin—a warm, gruff balance to Aleksander’s inclination towards honed ruthlessness.

She could have _everything._ Just this once. 

“Alright,” she assents softly, leaning back against the Darkling, allowing herself to brush Nikolai’s freckled cheek with affection. Both of them seeping into her heart. Surely there was room.

Fingers—could be anyone’s—find the clasp of her dress, pulling it free so the fabric pools to her waist and only her thin chemise remains. She shivers in the frigid air, bare skin pebbling as Aleksander lifts her hips to free the caught material, Nikolai pulling until it falls away from her legs. He catches a slender ankle in one large hand, thumb moving firmly up the arch of her foot. 

“I’m glad you see reason, dearest. Provided the old man can keep up with it, of course,” Nikolai pulls her in for another kiss with a roguish smile, and she feels it when Aleksander bristles beneath her, irritation flashing sharply across the bond. 

“Careful, Lantsov.” 

“What’s the fun in that?” he murmurs into her mouth, teeth catching her bottom lip. “Alina, we might turn you into an insatiable little thing—I tend to have that effect, so my apologies in advance. I’m merely addressing the four hundred year-old elephant in the room.”

She giggles, exhilaration blossoming under her skin. The Darkling’s hand tenses at the back of her neck, and it makes her feel fragile. “Enough,” his eyes narrow. “Or I will gag you and you can please your new bride _silently_.”

The floor plummets beneath her feet, and Alina has to bite down hard in order to suppress a shudder; there’s a shaded promise in his voice, a gleaming onyx intent. It’s mesmerizing. Fracturing. Apparently Nikolai is not so unaffected, his pupils blown out, fat reflective discs. He doesn’t even blink from where he’s bent down to kiss her. 

“You make that sound like a punishment—“

A hand snatched out between them: The Darkling’s long, milk-white fingers curled tight in Nikolai’s hair, wrenching the prince’s head up. Alina could not force herself to look away from the beauty of it. “I grow tired of this game,” he said. “Get her ready for me, _Sobachka.”_

Nikolai’s face turned a peculiar shade of red at the nickname, like he could not decide if it was endearment or insult. Regardless, he slid to the floor uncharacteristically silent, hands planting themselves on her thighs and nudging them open. 

The Darkling had put a prince on his _knees_ . For _her._ The thrill is nearly suffocating.

Alina’s brow furrowed as Nikolai’s mouth moved to press against the inside of her knee. The soft fluttery feeling of his lips made her squirm again, made her well-aware of the beginning of a slippery mess between her legs. Wasn't he supposed to be helping? Because this strange thing—looking up at her from under his lashes, trailing his tongue higher and higher against her thigh—was only making it worse.

“What—“

The Darkling’s hand clasped over her mouth, muffling the question before she could ask, just as Nikolai’s tongue reached the seam of her. “Hush, Alina. Don’t distract the poor boy.”

And suddenly her nails are _clawing_ into the oak wood of the chair, nearly splintering the armrest as she gasped into his palm; the gentle circle of her own fingers in the same spot, late at night, muffled beneath a wool blanket had been marvelous, but this? It was warm spun sugar, a sudden drop, an electric sting that pulled her spine taut and curled her toes. Hot and slick and soft and too much—she kicked weakly at Nikolai’s shoulder, unsure of how she was meant to go on. No wonder the girls in her old regiment had made wistful jokes about men’s wicked tongues. 

“Hold her legs open,” Aleksander commanded, nuzzling at her cheek, both of them watching as Nikolai did just that, only briefly pausing to take a ragged breath with a smear of slick at his jaw. He seemed to double his efforts now: eager and messy sucking, a pull of sensitive flesh between his teeth like he wanted to devour her. Alina continued whimpering into Aleksander’s palm, even as he used his free hand to grab her wrists, putting an end to her meager attempts to push Nikolai away.

“He's going to make you come on his tongue, darling. Be still. Don’t you want to be good for me?” he soothed, hypnotically calm as Nikolai worked. Alina felt as though she were on the winding crest of a strong tide, one that beckoned her beneath the surface. “Don’t tire yourself out with crying. You’ll need to thank him afterword.”

Nikolai glanced up, the curve of his mouth on her cunt clearly a smile, an edge of mischief as he licked firmly at the spot that made her shiver the most. She felt hysterical—aching—completely helpless—wanted to burn down the palace with these two men inside so they could understand how scorched they’d left her.

“It’s alright, Alina,” Nikolai had lifted his head, tongue replaced with a circling thumb. He nodded, encouraging expression fond as she twitched with each pass. “Just relax. You can do it.”

And then he pushed a finger inside, nudging that place that made her tremble uncontrollably while he returned his mouth to her pink and swollen clit. It wasn’t _fair._ Nothing about this—these two men merely watching as she fell apart with a shudder, neck splotchy with color, the candlelight flickering as her power tested its reigns—felt fair at all. Maybe that’s why she was so ashamed to be enjoying it. 

When it had run its terrible course, the Darkling shifted beneath her, hand coming up to wipe Nikolai’s panting mouth clean, thumb lingering at the seam of his lips. “What do you think, _sobachka?”_ He hummed. “Is your little wife ready to be fucked?”

The word itself was lethal, Alina stiffening as it pooled between her hips like sticky spring honey. The prince was still lazily sprawled at their feet, looking nearly drunk as he nodded again, eyes hooded. Had she done that? Affected him so badly?

“Then take her to bed,” Aleksander nudged him with a boot to stand, Alina bristling as he handed her off like a sack of potatoes into Nikolai’s waiting arms. Not that she felt particularly capable of walking the short distance to the bed, but still. 

“You’re not—joining?” Alina said softly before she could help herself, oddly bereft as Nikolai crossed the room to lay her upon dark silks. Aleksander’s mouth quirked as he stretched his long legs out before the fire, apparently finding her question amusing. 

“Don’t fret, little saint,” he teased, lighting a cigarette stolen from a desk drawer with a lazy flick of flame. It was an odd contrast to the austere image he maintained; made her wonder if she and Nikolai were yet another indulgence of his. “Be a good wife and let your husband have his fill. He’s been very patient. Haven’t you, Nikolai?”

Nikolai pulled at her plain chemise, baring her completely to both of them before pawing at his own clothes. “Sure have,” he groaned, pushing her onto the pillows and settling between her legs. “Lean back, Alina—“

“Manners. Ask nicely,” the Darkling drawled, now looping a lazy skien of shadow between his fingers.

“Please,” Nikolai bit out, color high on his cheeks. The head of his cock wept at her thigh, nearly purple at the tip. He vibrated at her fingertips, apparently struggling to hold himself back. 

She nodded, eyes tracing the muscle that tensed in his jaw—but he made no move to guide himself inside of her and offer them both relief.

“You may,” Aleksander exhaled a cloud of smoke after a long moment, his free hand drifting to his unbuttoned trousers. Alina realized with a rush of heat that he hadn’t meant Nikolai to ask for _her_ permission _._

The prince in question sighed, shoulders sagging as he fisted the tip and finally pushed within her body. It was a strange sensation compared to the nimble fingers that came before; somehow both more and less forgiving. _Blunt,_ she thought warily, biting down on a whimper as he stretched her even further, working himself with small movements, disappearing inside her cunt. 

“Saints,” Nikolai looked almost pained as he cursed, and Alina wondered if she was doing something wrong—but trying to sit up only made him hiss, abdomen contracting.

“S-sorry,” she said quickly, ignoring the burn as her apologetic wiggling accidentally sank him deeper. 

The Darkling _laughed,_ tapping the ash from his cigarette. She tried to shoot him a glare—Nikolai was clearly hurt, and she was the source of it—

_Oh._

Her eyes grew impossibly wide as he rocked again, realizing that perhaps he wasn’t suffering at all—that perhaps he felt the same molten burst of pleasure as she did, one that had her nails curling into his biceps and her hips yearning up, up, searching to make it happen again. Immediately. 

“K-Kolya,” she managed to choke out, overwhelmed. He smiled above her, hand reaching out to cup her cheek, brush her hair sweetly from her face. It was tender in a way that made her heart give a vice-like squeeze.

“Don’t let her come again,” Aleksander ordered. “It’ll be on my cock or not at all.”

“Sorry sweetheart,” he mumbled, pumping his hips, holding her down so she couldn’t seek out that fluttering spot again. It was _cruel._ Struck by the sudden urge to cry, Alina’s eyes welled up with tears—already so sensitive from her previous orgasm, so close, clenching up—

Nikolai braces himself to a stop with a grimace—Alina realizes that the wounded noise echoing around the room was _her._ Begging, pleading, high-pitched and desperate. _Please please please please,_ a chanted prayer, spilling from her lips. _I’m so close, please._ Crossing her ankles at his back, Alina wiggles with desperation, sweat beading at her brow. If he’d only _move—_

“Alina,” says a rather cross voice on the other side of the room, snapping her out of rhythm. “If you come, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t, pet. Let Lantsov finish.”

_It’s not fair_ , she thought, face twisting as Nikolai began to move again, rutting slick between her thighs. Why did he get to chase after his pleasure and she didn’t? Why did he get relief while she was wound up, tighter and tighter, threatening to crack?

“Good girl,” Aleksanser praised softly. He was beside the bed suddenly, fingertips tracing the velvet edge of the antlers, quivering the teather with power. “Your _sobachka_ is going to come, isn’t he? I think he likes your tight cunt, darling.”

Nikolai swore, fingers digging into her hips, hard enough to leave marks. Alina found she liked the idea—evidence she could see in the mirror tomorrow, proof that surefooted Nikolai had fallen apart at her whim. 

She watched as a pale hand reached out, grabbing a fist full of blonde curls, arching the prince’s neck back until his Adam’s apple bobbed, skin translucent. Nikolai hissed, eyes half lidded, still mindlessly thrusting away. 

“Come inside her,” the Darkling coaxed, lips at his ear. “Fill up your pretty wife, little prince.”

Like many vices, it would hurt if it didn’t feel so pleasurable. Alina gasped as Nikolai slammed his cock inside her a final time, the bed shaking as he groaned through his orgasm, handsome face flushed with exertion. Aleksander held him firmly by the hair until he was finished, shoulders slumped, eyelashes wet. 

She could feel his spend—fever hot, viscous, some of it escaping to slide down her thigh. It was filthy. It was divine. 

“Kiss her,” Aleksander pushed him down, and Nikolai eagerly found her mouth with his own, unsophisticated, slightly messy. There was a reassurance behind it that made her heart sing. Shyly, she managed a glance at Aleksander behind them; surprised to find he looked almost...fond. 

Nikolai rolled off and onto the mattress, gathering her quickly into his arms against sweat-damp skin. Alina didn’t mind—but she was still strung-out, thighs clenching as the steady hum of need still pulsed between her legs. 

“Ah,” Aleksander sat on the bed and hummed, bringing a long finger through the mess, rubbing it onto her raw clit as she whimpered. “What’s wrong? Not enough?”

She shook her head, eyes tracking his every movement, limbs tense as he traced over her skin. Afraid, that because he had denied her so easily before, he’d do it again. 

“Roll over,” he clicked his tongue, pulling off his clothing. “And spread your legs, Alina. You’re not finished.”

She did so in the warm embrace of Nikolai, who merely peppered her face in ticklish kisses before she settled between his legs on her stomach, lower half on the bed, chin in his belly. The mattress dipped as the Darkling crawled behind her; could feel his body heat as he lined them up, passing once through her folds to slick himself up. 

“Going to fuck you properly, _Milaya_. Is that what you want?”

She nods quickly, eagerly, the velvet head of his cock pressed at her clit.

“Tell your husband,” his hand clasps her jaw again, lifting firmly until her neck strains with effort, until all she can see are Nikolai’s bright eyes, fringed lashes. “Tell him you need me.”

“ _Ah—_ Kolya,” her voice is ragged, paper-thin. “I n-need—“

The first push inside has her boneless. 

“ _Saints_ , she’s still so tight.”

The noise ripped from her throat is incomprehensible; but so is the pressure, the heat, the stretch, all of it even more acute than before. So thick, that for a brief moment, it was unbearable, nearly splitting her in two. 

Nikolai bent, pressing another kiss to the crown of her head. “I know, but you can take it,” he says as she seizes, petting her hair. “I promise.”

She nodded tearfully, close to collapse. Buried her whines into his abdomen as he squeezed her shoulders. The slide was evened out by—she blushed scarlet—another man’s come, and the Darkling found a new rhythm. Harder than Nikolai’s. Aggressive. Deeper. Precise.

“So lovely. So obedient. _Mine_ ,” he murmurs in her ear, blanketing himself over her back, arms caging her in where she lay halfway sprawled on the prince’s chest. Oddly, it’s the safest she’s ever felt. “Every inch of you. Say it, pet.”

“Yours, _yours—_ I belong to you,” she warbles, wide eyes fixed on Nikolai with each thrust, not sure who the words are meant for, even as teeth scrape at her neck, across the collar, even as her wedding ring catches on silk bedsheets. A heavy hand pushes between her shoulder blades, pinning her down, heightening the angle. She doesn’t know who, because she’s too dizzy with pleasure with notice, power ricocheting between her ribs. 

“Please,” she begs, almost broken. “Sasha, please, I need—“ but she doesn’t finish, brain fizzled at the edges, curled and flammable. If Nikolai is surprised at the diminutive, he makes no indication. 

“You _need_ to come, is that it?” Aleksander coos, almost mocking in her ear. “You need both of us to fuck brainless you until you’re satisfied, Alinochka?”

His voice _drags_ over her name with smug affection. She adores it, her answering _uh-huh_ miserably wrecked. Unable to move, Alina does as Nikolai promised she could: she takes it. And takes it. And—

Aleksander reaches under her hip, fingers finding her swollen clit, slick with Nikolai’s spit and come; Alina frantically shoves her hips at the sensation, frenzied like she’s in heat. She knows before she tips over that it’s going to happen, that she’s helpless, that her liquid unraveling will be the perfect, unyielding circle of his fingertips and the thrust of his cock.

“You’ve been such a patient girl,” he coaxes, beard scraping her shoulder. “Taking whatever we give you, hm? Even if it’s too much?”

“ _Yes,”_ she nods furiously. “Yes, yes—“

“And we want to give you _everything,”_ Nikolai insists, tilting her head up, thumb against her parted lips. 

“Please—“

“Tell me you understand that, Alinochka.”

“I _do_ ,” she whines, a mockery of her wedding vows as she comes on Aleksander’s cock, clutching at Nikolai like an anchor at sea.

She sobs into Nikolai’s kiss as she finishes, quivering beneath the Darkling, everything too bright and too fast, her heart at the center of it. Distantly she’s aware that Aleksander is coming too, by the stutter of his hips, that he’s filling her up with more, more, until the mess of it spills out, burning hot as it drips to the sheets. Until she feels delightfully used by both of them, deep satisfaction unfurling in her veins.

Eventually—when she can breathe again, when her pulse has slowed—there’s the weight of Aleksander on her back, the three of them in a sweaty pile on the bed. Too content to open her eyes, she lets somebody clean her up, wrap her in blankets, smooth the hair back from her face and settle her, pliant and safe between two warm bodies. 

“Alina,” It’s Nikolai’s sleepy fingers that brush her ribs, speaking through a yawn. “You—you’re incandescent.”

She groans, burying her face in the pillow. “I’ve already slept with you. No need to lay it on so thick.”

“No—I mean it. You’re _glowing.”_

Daring to look, Alina wonders at first if she’s dreaming: her skin really is luminous, paler than moonlight, radiating the silver glow of her power. Running his gaze along the length of her body, Aleksander has an unreadable expression on his face—except for the eyes. His grey eyes are tender. 

It could be a trick, gleaned from centuries of playing the part of the lover. 

But it might not be. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I just think they’re NEAT!!!!!!!
> 
> @thevuaslog on the bird app


End file.
